The Wrong Thing
by flamewarflipsides
Summary: A sick and broken Eggman reflects on the events of Shadow the Hedgehog and the implications of his grandfather's misdeeds. Can he find a reason to keep fighting for world domination and come to terms with how like Gerald he is? Spoilers for Shadow the Hedgehog and GROSS OUT WARNING. Inspired by iammeyself's The Right Reasons, written as a present. DD Recipient at Deviantart.


I open my eyes to the sheen of metal and the sweet smell of rust. It brings me no comfort.

I have no idea how long I've been asleep. Come to think of it, I have no idea how long I have been here at all. I let my eyes dart around the room, trying to take it in, to remind myself of where I am and why I'm here. A little air bubble trapped between the surface of my eye and my eyelid pops, making a loud cracking noise and smoothing my movements. I can feel my lashes trying to stick together. I can feel a film over the corner of my lip.

I try to sit up, but I can't. Sleep paralysis. It's been happening more frequently lately, ever since…

I try not to think about it. I try not to let any recollection of the last few whatever they have been come to me. No, I am in bed, I was sleeping peacefully, and I will be getting up shortly, having a nice omelette (how rich), and I will be building my next invention to…

Don't think about it

My next invention to take over the world

Don't think about it

And when I take over the world there will be no cannibalism or murder

Stop thinking about it

And I will definitely not sell out anyone I actually care about

Stop thinking about it

Not that I am actually capable of caring about anyone if my disordered interactions with those damnable hedgehogs is to be believed

Stop thinking about it

Is it any wonder that I turned out just like him given the context

Shut up

And that I am just as big a threat to the safety of everyone in the world

Shut up

That I was manipulated by an alien creature just as easily as he was if not more so

Shut up

As a matter of fact I am inferior to my grandfather for failing to counteract that influence in any meaningful way

Shut up

And when it all came to pass I was useless and powerless as I was the day I was denied clearance

Shut up!

Just as powerless as my sweet innocent little cousin and her constantly repeated name

"SHUT UP!"

The sound of my own voice shakes me from the moment, and I realize that my thighs are touching my stomach, my fingers clasping my knees.

My eyes are burning; my lungs are burning. I shouldn't stay here much longer, assuming my location is even the cause of my suffering. I shall have to move to the castle, to the park. But they might find me there. They might be willing to traverse the obstacles, to counter my defenses. Normally I might welcome the confrontation. Before, when I had something to prove. Before, when I wasn't self-aware. Before I realized that everything I had looked up to was wrong. Before I realized the true depth of disgusting darkness my grandfather carried with him, before I realized that everything they had said about him was true…

And about me. I was his grandson. I admired him openly. Ergo, I was clearly as much a security threat as he was. But I am different, I told them. And when they wouldn't listen, I resolved to make them rue the day they made me the same.

But I always was the same…

I rise from my bed, knees shaking, head spinning. A more automatic part of my brain surveys my memory to find the last time I ate, the last time I drank. I'm not even sure. As I'm sure the hedgehog would tell me, obviously it's a little less urgent with me than most. I stagger to the tiny bathroom attached to my quarters and collapsed onto the downturned seat, only realizing once the last of my leg muscles stop contracting that I have failed to remove my trousers. I quickly survey my body to determine if I even need to vacate, and find that I do not. Likely an artifact of my failure to stay hydrated, no doubt.

Hydration. The word pulls my eyes to the shower, pristine as the last time my robots cleaned it the last time I was at this base. How long has it been? I've grown used to the smell.

Why bother? No one bothers me here except myself. Even if there were someone whose presence would not be a bother, they would certainly never bother to come here. Unlike my spiny relative, I have no charming innocent girl to be devoted to me for seemingly no reason. My wit, charm, intelligence, and creative skill, while superior in most ways to Shadow's, cannot compete with the social value of having a heart. I wonder what denied me that. Was it my grandfather, my father? Or was it me?

It certainly wasn't my lack of a heart that had motivated me to save Shadow after his defeat of the Finalhazard. I meant to use him to my advantage. And yet I keep coming back to that moment, as if somehow that redeems me, makes me more than the traitor my grandfather turned out to be.

I rise to my feet, shaking, removing my clothes as I stand. Removing my trousers, I actually fall a little, catching myself hard on the edge of the shower with my gut. No matter. No physical pain can possibly compare to the knowledge that the premise of my entire life was faulty. I turn on the water, giving a little gasp as it comes out hot, too hot for me, and my still-gloved hands scramble for the control until I don't feel a need to run and scream.

If only I could wash away his sins. If only I could wash away mine.

I stand there in the water, letting the warmth soothe my aching joints, feeling stiff muscles start to relax. How long have I been lying in the bed? How long have I been moping? It isn't like me to linger too long on a failure. But what am I? I am merely a reflection of him. I am to Gerald as Sonic is to Shadow…

My heart catches in my chest.

What Shadow does for his basest feelings, for his whims… Sonic does for what, as far as I can tell, is some kind of deep moral obligation. One does not simply chase the same villain for all this time for fun.

The more I look back, the more I have no idea what motivated my grandfather.

…but I have always been driven by the unfairness of it all… that all my skills should be dismissed because of who my grandfather was… that all my planning should be destroyed by one sniveling, spontaneous rodent... All this time, I have been fixated on the wrong thing. It all comes together in my mind and before I know it, there is soap in my hand and I am clean.

I step out of the shower and stride out of the bathroom, naked as the day I was born. Clean towels from the linen closet. A clean suit. Fresh boots.

I walk out to the control room, my resolve renewed, and yet I find myself on the floor.

Perhaps if I'd eaten something?

...But I got up once. I shall get up again.

* * *

**Author's Note: **Want more where this came from? It was loosely inspired by iammemyself's "The Right Reasons." :3


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